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Post by melon head. on Jun 7, 2009 3:04:09 GMT -5
This is a new fic that I'm planning on doing for a bit before I start my next big novella. The basic plot line: Olaf, the new drama teacher at the V.F.D. Training School, becomes besotted for the young Kit Snicket. These are Olaf's diary entries of his first, and last, year as a teacher as he tries to win Kit over. Along the way you'll see an assortment of familiar faces, all seen from Olaf's perspective- from a young Beatrice Taylor to an awkward Jacques Snicket. So sit back, relax and enjoy a perplexing year with the volunteers. Hmm... I should make that my slogan. .___. {O,o} /)__) -"-"- It was always about making my mother proud. That's what my dad said, anyway. He was always telling me that my mother had higher expectations than anyone else he'd ever met. Their wedding was too shabby, my father's hair thinned to quickly, giving birth to me was too painful. I don't know what she expected giving birth to be like, but apparently the one she got wasn't right. That's why she and my father never had any more children. I used to be annoyed by this; I would have loved a little brother to wrestle with or a little sister to draw with. I soon grew out of this, though, as I realised that the less siblings you have, the more friends you get. They enjoy a house untainted by loud brothers and annoying sisters, and thus spend most of their time there. My mother had high expectations for my friends, too, and was left unsatisfied by most of them. So when I told my parents I'd managed to get a job teaching drama at the V.F.D. Training School, I was not expecting much of a response from my mother. I was assuming she'd just tell me that teaching is only second-best after doing. I wasn't expecting her to squeal, delighted, and buy me a suit for my first day of work. "You actually met her expectations," my father said, laughing. I watched him take a drag from his cigarette, something that has always disgusted me- his expression is ugly and the smoke smells awful. When I was young I'd cry if Dad ever lit a fire, simply because the smell drove me to near insanity. So now, here I am, adjusting my cufflinks and bracing myself for my first day of work. I'm thankful I didn't give my mother the school number- she rang me four times before I left this morning wishing me luck. She kept telling me not to lose my temper and to treat each student with the same amount of respect. She told me to carry a handkerchief just in case, and comb my hair to left because it looks so much better. She made me promise I'd make an effort to memorise everyone's names, even if it meant staying up in bed with a list. As long as I fell asleep at a decent hour and got enough rest. So I did what every good son would do. I assured her I'd be fine, told her I loved her, and then bolted from my apartment before she could call again. And now I'm wishing I hadn't because I'm so goddamn nervous. Oh, well. Here goes nothing.
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Post by Jenny on Jun 7, 2009 4:42:10 GMT -5
I LOVE YOU. This is so going to be awesome. Or is already. Seriously cannot wait for another part of this--I like the way you've started out building Olaf's character as someone we can all relate to and understand, when we know at some point some of that's going to have to go out the window. Love it!
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 7, 2009 14:47:14 GMT -5
May, this is an incredible story, and I can tell from what I've read that it's only going to continue to grow in awesomeness. I love the way you've painted this "other side" of Olaf, which we haven't really seen in the canon aside from the brief scene in TE with Kit. Do continue, please!
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Post by melon head. on Jun 7, 2009 21:00:24 GMT -5
Thank you, guys. There is something fun about writing Olaf as a mummy's boy. .___. {O,o} /)__) -"-"-
Crap, I just spilt mayo all over the cover of my diary. I'm on a lunch break, and, as of yet, I've only had one class. I wouldn't know their ages- V.F.D. doesn't do year levels. Most of the students looked about thirteen, I suppose. They were all very enthusiastic, which makes my life easier. They all played the games I taught them, and were extremely polite. I made them all do a thirty-second monologue from a book or play of their choice. God bless V.F.D.; they knew all their favourite books off by heart. I sat through a hell of a lot of Shakespeare (Not that this annoyed me, I'm merely making observation). Easily the best performer in the class was a young girl who I'm yet to learn the name of. She did The Importance of Being Ernest, a portrayal of Lady Bracknell so convincing that I decided I would recommend her to the head of the Drama Department for any upcoming musicals. There are a few people around here I know by reputation, or else by there parent's affiliation with V.F.D.- I noticed Fernald Widdershins wandering around, a posse of girls trailing after him. He must be, what, twelve? This morning I saw the Denouement twins sitting amongst a few friends. Later, I saw one of them by themselves in the hall, looking bored and smoking. I forced him to put the cigarette out- way to make a good first impression, Olaf. It seems bizarre that anyone here would smoke, considering everyone's so paranoid about fires. The only other person I recognised was the Duchess of Winnipeg's daughter. What's her name again? Something starting with R. She was sitting with the Denouements, and looked extremely happy, although I heard a rumour that some kind of fire had recently occurred in her family. It's difficult because I was born in between- I'm younger than all of the V.F.D. legends, but older than all of the current students. It made my life at the V.F.D. Training School quite dull. I best be getting back. I have a group of older students to tend to. Again, I don't know who they are, but they call themselves the "Theatre Veterans", so I better prepare myself.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 7, 2009 23:03:28 GMT -5
You're welcome May. Little!Fernald Widdershins! And he's already got girls following him at only twelve years old. That seriously made me go "Awwww!" ;D It was interesting the way Olaf took the cigarette away from one of the Denouement triplets (could it be Ernest, perhaps?), considering the sort of person he is in the canon. It really shows how noble Olaf was back then. Excellent second chapter, and I'm looking forward to reading more.
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Post by Jenny on Jun 8, 2009 2:06:16 GMT -5
LITTLE!FERNALD! Not going to repeat Emma's exact words, but that was very adorable indeed ;D
It's certainly interesting to see this portrayl of a lot of the people we know in canon in a completely different light, and it's going to be equally interesting to (presumably) watch Olaf ...disintegrate.
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Post by Hermes on Jun 8, 2009 10:03:50 GMT -5
This is wonderful - I do like the new take on Olaf, and the insight into VFD. And 'the Denouement twins' - ha! I always wondered about that.
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Post by L'enfant terrible on Jun 9, 2009 7:54:35 GMT -5
That was amazing May! Aw Little Fernald is so cute!(Sorry for repeating but he is!) It is very interesting that Olaf doesn't like cigarettes since he loves fires later, I wonder what makes him change the idea. Please keep on writing this is great!
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Post by Jenny on Jun 9, 2009 9:25:15 GMT -5
I completely missed this last reading, buit I think considering the Quagmires being called "twins" it's also quite a funny part of this I also love how everyone seems to adore little!Fernald. I think a new favourite character of mine might just have been invented...
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 9, 2009 11:53:35 GMT -5
Yeah, the bit about the Denouement "twins" flew right over my head the first time I read this, too. But I love it, and it's a good reminder of the Quagmires being referred to as twins. *hugs little!Fernald*
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Post by melon head. on Jun 17, 2009 2:56:14 GMT -5
Thank you guys. Fernald is a stud. If I wasn't 16 I would totally go out with him. And I nearly wrote the Denouements as triplets, then I remembered what Olaf said in TPP. L.Baudelaire, Olaf will slowly come to love smoke, don't you worry. And Emma, you were right- Ernest is the shady guy in the corner. .___. {O,o} /)__) -"-"- Look at me. I mean, you can’t, because you’re a book. To hell with that, look at me anyway. Try your best. I don’t look young, do I? I mean, younger than twenty-seven. Because that’s how old I am. I have quite a young-looking face, sure, and I shave frequently, but there’s nothing physically about me that makes me look like a teenager. Right? The theatre veterans were already sitting in the drama studio when I arrived, talking and yelling at the top of their voices. They made me squirm under my suit- their voices like nails on a chalkboard, their laughter like a dying hyena. I cleared my throat loudly and waited for silence. When nothing greeted me but more chalk and hyenas, I called out, “That’s enough, everyone!” And wouldn’t you know it, they just kept on talking. Outraged at their lack of respect they seemed to have for their teacher, I stood up on my desk. “ALL OF YOU, SHUT UP! AS YOUR TEACHER, I ORDER YOU TO BE QUIET!” That did the trick. The whole class looked at me, not offended, but surprised. One boy, sitting towards the back of the class, hollered, “What did you just say?” “I order you to… be… quiet?” My confidence was crashing quicker than I’d ever thought possible. “Did you say you were our teacher?” Came a voice, and my head snapped to the front of the hall. A tall, thin girl with blood red lips and pale skin was staring up at me; her waxed eyebrows perched upwards in doubt. Her black hair was cropped into a perfectly straight bob, and she was much too thin. Sitting beside her was a short girl, with mousy brown hair and a very round face. Unlike her friend, she had no issue whatsoever with weight gain- maybe a little with weight loss, though. “I am your teacher,” I told the skinny girl. “What are you, like, fourteen?” The girl shot back. Her friend started snorting with laughter. “Good one, Esmé!” She cried, clapping two pudgy hands together in delight. She stopped herself, however, when she saw the look of disdain upon her friend’s face. Teenagers terrify me. I’m kind of scared to go to my next class.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 17, 2009 10:47:36 GMT -5
May, this was incredible! I loved how Olaf was so intimidated by the students to the point where he was asking them to be quiet rather than telling them. Poor guy. And you've introduced Esme! And Geraldine! What more can I possibly say other than I love you and this story? I laughed out loud when Esme accused Olaf of being fourteen. And he's terrified of teenagers! Awesome chapter.
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Post by Hermes on Jun 17, 2009 10:48:58 GMT -5
This is still really good! So O used to look young for his age, did he? I guess that changed as he became more villainous. And I'm wondering who Esme's friend is.
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Post by Jenny on Jun 17, 2009 10:51:25 GMT -5
I'm going to assume her "friend" is Geraldine, just because she's her biggest fan, after all This has gone past the realm of awesome now. ;D I'm in love with this story
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Post by melon head. on Jun 18, 2009 5:53:22 GMT -5
Thank you! Yes, chubby friend was indeed Geraldine. She's such a follower. When will she learn that people (Who aren't Esme) respect you for your individuality? *Sigh* .___. {O,o} /)__) -"-"-
I am now sitting in the teacher's lounge, taking a moment to breathe before I meet my last class of the day. Moments earlier, a very short, balding and obviously flat-footed man approached me, his gold rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his beak-like nose. He cleared his throat, and I could immediately tell that every word that he'd ever utter would be spoken in a dull, tedious monotone. "Hello," he said, proving my assumption to be correct. "My name is Mr. Mullens. I, ah, teach business letter-writing." He extended a hand which I took with great dignity, even though the thought of business writing classes made me want to shoot myself. "Count Olaf," I said pleasantly. "I teach drama." Mr. Mullens winced. "So you're the one who's been taking all my students." I did a double take. "I beg your pardon?" "All the students have moved to drama this year because of your reputation. Apparently you're some kind of theatrical God to them. You received the, ah, Outstanding Performance in the Arts award every year you were at this school." This man had done his homework. "That was years ago. None of them would remember that, if they were even alive then." "And yet, they do," Mr. Mullens sighed, patting my back. "If you ever feel like sitting in on one of my classes- you know, to, ah, learn some teaching methods- knock yourself out." I smiled and nodded. Was that man being serious? I'd rather eat my own foot than attend a business letter-writing class.
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